


Rage Fear Sorrow Shame

by theletterelle



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is..., The Young Veins
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Gen, Prior Noncon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in 1997, Mikey Way goes dancing... and never comes home.</p><p>Gerard is convinced he's still alive, and though the weeks drag on, he refuses to give up hope. Even if the cops can't find Mikey, he will.</p><p>He's right. Mikey is alive. So are the seven other boys held captive with him. There are men who don't dare indulge their tastes outside, but among those who need it, this house has a reputation for secrecy. The boys have given up on ever seeing the outside world again, but Mikey will never lose his faith in Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage Fear Sorrow Shame

**Author's Note:**

> I owe huge thanks to Gala Apples for her inspiration and beta. Written for Bandom Big Bang Wave 2, 2011. Art can be found [here](http://fic-carousel.livejournal.com/6757.html); a mix can be found [here](http://fic-carousel.livejournal.com/6510.html).

“Hey Gee.” Mikey stuck his head into Gerard’s room.

Gerard didn’t look up. “You’re supposed to knock.”

“I wanna go to a club in the city. Can I get a ride?”

“Take the bus.” Gerard turned the page.

“I don’t have enough money to get there and back and still get in. Besides, it takes too long. Come on.” Mikey pushed his round glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck off. I’m reading Doom Patrol.”

“You’ve read that one like a million times. Come on, Gee.”

“Get Mom to do it.”

“She and Dad went out like two hours ago. Seriously, I can’t drive after dark, you know that, and I sure as hell don’t have enough money to park downtown.”

“Then don’t go. Your clubs have shitty music anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get one of your friends--”

“I can’t get ahold of anyone--”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Mikey.” Gerard lay down the comic book and glared at him through greasy black hair. “You’ll just need me to come back and pick you up in like three hours. I’m not doing it. Here.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill. “Here’s a twenty. Take the fucking bus, and get a ride back home if it’s too late.”

Mikey scowled, but took the money. “Asswipe.”

“Dickface. Take your fake ID and go dance to your shitty music.” Gerard settled back and absently scratched his balls.

-o-

It wasn’t the bus ride that took forever; it was switching lines and waiting for the train and then the subway, and walking in the March cold and rain the fifteen blocks to the club rather than waiting for yet another fucking bus. Fuck Gerard anyway. Mikey thought the basement troll thing would be over after Gee got to college, but here he was, home for spring break and stinking up his cave again.

Forget it. He’d be there soon enough. Mikey reached into the pocket of his wide-leg jeans, fingered the X tabs, popped one into his mouth and dry-swallowed it. He sighed and leaned his head back against the subway window. By the time he got to the club, it would be just kicking in. He grinned.

It acted fast. When he got off the subway, the wind hit him like a slap in the face. By the time he was a few blocks away, it had softened to a cool breeze. The texture of his jeans intrigued him, and he ran a finger over and over the leg seam. It made him giggle. He felt the throb of the drum and bass when he was still half a block away. It crept into Mikey’s bones and muscles, turned all his joints loose and fluid, till he felt like he could flow into the club like water.

The lights splashed the dancers with color, glowsticks making trails in the air. Mikey breathed in cigarette smoke, eyes closed, and let the music twist his skinny arms into incomprehensible patterns. Gerard might think it was shitty music, but fuck, it felt _good_ to dance. “I love this song!” squealed a girl with ponytails and a pacifier. Mikey began to grin. He couldn’t stop grinning. Everything was wonderful, everything was perfect. He ran his fingers over his arms, his chest, down his hips, and spun around, in love with the world. A girl hugged him, and he hugged her back, rubbing his face against her hair. “You’re beautiful,” he shouted, but he didn’t think she heard him over the music. _Why are you always hiding?_ crooned the singer, _Why are you always mourning?_ Mikey laughed. A guy behind him snaked his arms around Mikey and kissed his neck. Mikey moved with him, astounded at the feel of the guy’s lips on his skin. He caressed the hand that clasped him. It felt like silk.

Time went away, lost in the lights and sound and the lemon-mint taste of Ricola drops. Mikey didn’t know how many people he touched, or how many touched him. He loved them all. “I love you,” he said to no one, and giggled. The music caught him like a riptide, and he swam in it, drowning over and over again. _The revelation... the revelation... see the revelation..._

Mikey didn’t want to stop, he never wanted to stop, but he was alone tonight and had to be his own babysitter. He threaded over to the bar and stroked it, entranced by the bumps of the waffle plate, until the bartender practically had to shake him to get him to look up. “Oh,” said Mikey. “Um. Water, please?” The bottle took half his remaining cash, and swallowing the water made his throat ache, but he had to be responsible. And dehydration sucked. He took another tab, tucked the bottle into a capacious pocket and spun into the dance again.

Sweat plastered Mikey’s floppy hair to his forehead and neck. He danced for hours. He kissed girls, running his hands along their soft, soft skin. He kissed boys, twining his arms around their necks. He popped lozenges, peppermints, gnashed his teeth on Ice Blast gum, refilled his bottle at the bathroom sink and forced himself to drink it again. The mint made it cold as it slipped past his constricted throat. It hurt. He kept dancing.

Mikey had long ago lost track of time when the bouncers started to move people toward the doors. He kept dancing until the music shut off, then looked around at everyone on their way out. “Oh,” he said. “No.” A big guy gripped his shoulder gently-- Mikey shivered-- and steered him to the exit. “I don’t want to go,” Mikey pleaded.

“You can come back tomorrow,” said the big guy.

It felt like the sun had come out after weeks of rain. “I can?” Mikey’s eyes were brilliant. “Thank you!”

The air outside was as soft and cool as a blanket of snow. Mikey rested against the grungy brick wall by the club door. He couldn’t believe Gerard wouldn’t even try this. Reading was nice, it was good, but nowhere near the bliss of dancing. Nowhere.

Well, he was kicked out. He had one tab left, so he held it in one hand and rummaged in his pocket for his water bottle. Which was empty. “Oh no,” he said. His voice sounded funny. He giggled.

“You okay?” The voice came from around the corner. Mikey squinted and took a couple steps to see who was talking, and if they were talking to him. It was a guy in a bright pink t-shirt. Mikey’s fingers itched to touch it. “Really, are you okay, dude?”

“I-- what? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I feel great,” Mikey said. “Awesome, actually. Really, really fucking great. Oh--” as the guy sparked a cigarette, “is that menthol? Can I have one?”

“Sure.” The guy handed his over and lit up another one. He was older, maybe mid-twenties. A burnt-out glowstick stuck out of his pocket.

Mikey sucked gratefully on the cigarette. His mouth tingled with the menthol’s chill, which reminded him he still had a pill to take. Which reminded him he still had no water, and dry-swallowing while already rolling was pretty near impossible. “I can’t take my last one,” Mikey said. He looked hopefully at the pink-shirt guy for help, and once again, the guy came to his rescue, handing him a half-full bottle of water.

“You are the _best_ ,” said Mikey. “Seriously, you’re, like, Superman or something. No. Batman. With the Bat-water.” He threw the last tab into his mouth and gulped the rest of the water. “Awesome. This is gonna make the ride back sooooo much better.”

“Where’re you going? Can I give you a ride?”

“In the Batmobile?” That sounded _amazing_ , but “Nah, I’m going to Jersey. Belleville. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

The guy dropped his cigarette on the pavement and ground it out. “I’m heading to Rahway. Come on. It’s four in the morning, and my car may be a piece of shit, but it’s better than waiting for the bus.”

Oh wow. This _had_ to be the best night ever. “You’re better than Batman,” said Mikey fervently. “You’re--”

“I’m Riley.” The guy gave a crooked smile. “Come on, I got street parking a few blocks away. Car’s too ugly for anyone to steal.”

“Hi Riley, I’m Mikey.” Mikey trotted behind him. “Can I touch your shirt?”

“Wait until we get in the car,” said Riley. “We don’t have a lot of time to wait for you to feel me up.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mikey tripped over a broken piece of sidewalk, stumbled, caught himself. “Whoops!” He giggled. “I’m tireder than I thought.”

“Drunker than you thought,” said Riley. “Come on, dude, you just gotta walk a little further.”

“Oh yeah, I’m good. Totally cool.” Something was weird. Mikey tried to figure it out, but his head felt fuzzy. “Wait, I didn’t get drunk. Did I?”

“I wasn’t watching,” Riley said. Mikey tripped again, and this time Riley caught him by the arm. “Okay there, dude. Come on. Not much farther.” He held Mikey up and guided him away from the parking meters.

“I dunno what’s wrong,” Mikey said. He sounded really weird to himself. “Comin’ down? I just, I just took-- goddamn, the fuck’s wrong w’ me?”

“Mikey?” Riley’s voice was both loud and far away. “Mikey, come on, we’re almost there.”

Mikey wanted to tell Riley he’d be fine, but it felt like the bones in his legs had dissolved, and that wasn’t fine at all. “Call 911,” he tried to say, but it got stopped somewhere in his throat. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. The last thing he heard was Riley’s disgusted voice-- “Shit”-- and then there was nothing at all.

-o-

Gerard woke up before noon, which was unusual. He was hungry, which was not. He got up, hiked up his boxers, and wandered up the stairs toward the kitchen. Mom was at the table, smoking and reading the paper. Gerard grabbed the coffeepot and a mug, and sat down across from her. “Good night?”

She exhaled and held out her mug for a refill. “Not bad. Where’s your brother?”

Gerard shrugged. “He went out. Must’ve crashed somewhere else. Where’s Dad?”

“Still sleeping.” She took a sip of coffee. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Fine.” Gerard looked at her oddly. “Why?”

“You’ve gotten so thin. Are you eating at school?”

Oh. That. “I eat.” Just not like he did when he was at home, which was probably for the best, all things considered. The last thing he wanted was to be the fat asshole drunk he was all through high school. “You want to worry about someone, worry about Mikey. I’m, like, two of him.”

“I know Mikey eats. I just want to be sure you’re not living on Jolt and Slim Jims.” She raised her eyebrows at him over the paper. That look never failed to make him feel eight years old again.

“I’m not,” said Gerard without much conviction. “I’m just so into my work, I don’t have time to eat.”

“Set an alarm. For God’s sake, Gerard.”

Gerard snorted and grabbed a cigarette from her pack.

“Out.” Mom made a shooing motion with her hand. “Leave the coffeepot. I’m trying to read.”

Gerard stole the box of Rice Krispies from atop the refrigerator. “I’m working on a project today. Tell Mikey to leave me alone when he comes back.”

-o-

Mikey stirred. His eyelids were too heavy to open. He wondered what time it was and how long he’d slept. Maybe he should get up, but he was so _tired_. God, so tired. He tried to roll over and pull the covers up. His arm didn’t want to move. He drifted off again.

-o-

“Dinner!”

Gerard drew motion lines where Wolverine’s fist smashed into a wall.

“Gerard! Dinner!”

“Gimme a minute!” he yelled, and started crosshatching the shadows on Sabretooth’s face.

“It’s spaghetti,” Mom called back.

Gerard’s stomach growled. Maybe she was right about the alarm. “Coming, coming.” He capped his pen and took the stairs two at a time. Had he had lunch? He didn’t think so. What time was it, anyway?

“Have you heard from Mikey?” asked Mom as he came into the kitchen.

“Huh? No.” Gerard frowned. It was getting dark. “Didn’t he call?”

“Not that I know of. Don!” she called. “Get down here or we’re eating without you!”

Gerard grabbed a plate and began piling spaghetti on it. “More for me, then.”

-o-

Oh God, Mikey’s head hurt. His tongue was glued to his teeth, and when he opened his mouth, all he could manage was “Unnhhh.” He felt sick. Maybe he _was_ sick. Where was Mom? He wanted water. “Mom?” he croaked. His eyelids were stuck. He reached up to rub them, but his arm felt heavy, and he touched his face with both hands.

He dug at the crud around his eyes until he could open them. The room was dark, with a strip of light underneath the door. Which was supposed to be on the other side of his bed. Where...? Mikey rubbed his face again and realized his hands were bound. Oh. That was weird.

Mikey tried to sit up, but his head swam and he collapsed back into bed, which he realized wasn’t his bed. His was bigger. Softer. He could feel a spring poking into his back. A small worm of apprehension curled up in his stomach. “Mom?” he said again, louder this time. “Gee? Think ’m sick...” But why would his hands be tied? And this wasn’t his bed.

“Patrick?” he said. It wasn’t Patrick’s room, he was pretty sure, but he couldn’t think of where else he might have crashed. And Joe would have thought it was funny to tie him up while he slept. After the... after... after what? He couldn’t remember what happened last night, which was _really_ weird, because he never drank enough to black out. He had to be there to take care of Gee when he threw up. “Trick? Not funny, dude.” _God_ , his head hurt.

The door opened. Mikey squinted against the light, raising his hands to block it out. Someone stood in the doorway, flicked on the light in the room. “You’re up. Good.” It was a voice Mikey didn’t know.

“I--” Mikey’s voice cracked. “Where ‘m I?”

There was no answer, but the man came over, grasped Mikey’s arm and pulled him up to sit on the edge of the bed. Mikey blinked painfully. His vision was blurry, but he was able to focus on the man standing over him. The man he didn’t know, in a room he’d never seen. And his hands were tied. He looked down at them. Taped. The apprehension turned to fear. This was not supposed to happen; this never happened to real people, only people on the news.

“What’s your name?” asked the man.

“Mikey,” said Mikey, staring past his hands to where his ankles were bound with the same duct tape.

“Okay. Mikey. Look at me.” Mikey did. “I’m going to show you something. Pay attention.” The man began to unbuckle his belt.

“I--” said Mikey. “I gotta go home now.”

“This is your home, Mikey.” The man pulled the belt out of the loops, held the buckle end, wrapped it twice around his hand. Mikey’s brain didn’t work fast enough to get him out of the way. The man brought the belt down, hard, across Mikey’s arm.

Mikey jerked away. “Ow! Hey, hey--” This time the belt landed across his back. Mikey screamed. It hit him again. “Don’t--” The belt caught him across the side of the head, and Mikey fell to the floor. He scrambled to hide under the bed, but the man caught him by the ankles and dragged him to the middle of the room.

Mikey lost count of how many times the man hit him. It hurt, and he screamed each time, louder when the belt clipped his ear or the back of his neck. He curled up as small as he could. It wasn’t small enough. He tried to crawl away, but his legs were bound and there was nowhere to go, and whenever he made it about a foot away, the man grabbed him and pulled him back. “Help!” Mikey yelled. There was no response.

At some point he stopped fighting it. He lay on the floor sobbing, hurt and confused and scared. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mom, his dad, his brother. The belt didn’t stop until Mikey’s sobs had turned to dull moans, and he’d stopped even covering his head. A hand fisted in his hair, jerked his head up. “Mikey.” The man slapped his face. “Mikey. Listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Mikey tried to say, but it came out all messed up. The man slapped him again. “Pay attention. If you behave, I won’t have to do that again. Got it? It’s all up to you. Do anything stupid, and I promise you this will just be the beginning. Understand?”

Mikey nodded, tears running down his face. The man hauled him up by the arm and threw him back on the bed. “Hold still.” He pulled out a knife. Oh God. Mikey cringed, but the man only cut the tape and peeled it off his ankles and wrists. “You’ll get tonight off,” said the man, “but I want you turned out tomorrow. Pete will tell you what to do.”

Mikey nodded again, even though he didn’t get it at all. But tomorrow, tomorrow had to be a good sign, right? If there was a tomorrow, they weren’t going to kill him. Not today. A memory flashed-- _check this out, Mikey, BTK, stood for Bind Torture Kill, he started in like the 70s and they’ve never caught him_ \-- and he fell on his knees on the floor, crawled to the corner, and threw up.

-o-

Gee tried to get back into his drawing. He thought he could turn it in for his dual-perspective project, if he could just manage to focus for one second. He kept listening for the door or the phone. Listening for Mikey. The later it got, the less he was able to concentrate, until he threw his pen down and went up the stairs. Mom was on the phone in the living room, Dad watching TV. “Okay,” said Mom. “Okay, thanks, Patrick.”

“What’d he say?” asked Gerard when Mom hung up the phone.

“He hasn’t been over there. He’s not at Joe’s or Ryland’s, either. They haven’t seen him since school on Friday.” Mom tapped her fingers on the end table. “Did he tell you who he was going to stay with last night?”

Gerard ran a hand through his hair. “No. He said he was going to get a ride. He was going into the city, to some rave club or something. Maybe try Ray or Frank?” He couldn’t think Mikey would have crashed with one of them last night, but maybe they’d know someone else to call. Because Gerard was starting to get nervous.

-o-

Mikey had no idea what to do. Once he stopped crying, he blew his nose in his t-shirt and looked around for his glasses. They were bent when he settled them on his face.

The room was tiny, with a door at one end and a boarded window at the other. There was a saggy twin bed. That was about it. Mikey tried the door. It was locked. He sat back on the bed and tried to think. His thoughts beat around his mind like birds trapped in a building. He gripped his hands together.

Okay. He had gone out last night, he thought. Gone somewhere. He had vague impressions of music, lights, dancing. He’d gone to a club? He thought so, but his memory was unhelpful. Okay. Assuming he went out, what then? Well, he was here-- _kidnapped_ , he carefully avoided thinking-- and there was someone named Pete, and the man who’d beaten him. Mikey touched the welts on his neck, his arm, a sense-memory of satin skin coming at him from nowhere.

There was a thump on the wall that made him jump. A low laugh followed, then another thump and the squeaking of bedsprings. Mikey rubbed his arms and tried to take deep breaths. His head still hurt. He needed to focus on that and not on what might or might not be happening on the other side of that wall.

He needed to find a way out. The door was locked, okay, but it couldn’t stay locked forever. Once it was opened, he’d be able to figure something out. He just had to hold on to that. He’d find a way out. Panic clawed at his throat, and he curled up, head on his knees, to keep it inside. He would find a way out, he _would_ , he would get out of here and go home and take a hot shower and oh fuck, he was crying again. His throat burned from stomach acid, he was wearing a snotty t-shirt, and he just wanted to go home.

-o-

Gerard scribbled on a piece of paper, sketching a picture of Mikey soaring through the clouds, high above stalled traffic on the turnpike. He listened to his mother’s strained voice on the phone with yet another hospital. “About five-nine, 120 pounds. He has light brown hair, he wears glasses, round ones, and he was wearing jeans and an Orbital t-shirt, his brother says.”

“Underworld,” said Gerard.

“Underworld, sorry,” said Mom. “Okay. Okay. Please call me back and let me know, okay? Either way. Thank you.”

The door slammed, and both of them jerked. Dad came in. Gerard looked down and drew an SUV driver shaking his fist at Mikey up in the sky. “I drove to everywhere I could think of,” said Dad. “The mall’s closed. They haven’t seen him at La Sicilia, Algieri’s, or Three Guys. No one remembers him at the movies, but they wouldn’t let me go in and check.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other. Gerard looked at the clock. Quarter to ten. Mikey would never do this on purpose.

Mom cleared her throat and dialed the phone again. “Hello. I need to report a missing person.”

-o-

Mikey didn’t move when the door unlocked. He didn’t want to see who it was, in case it was the man, come back to do something else horrible. “Oh shit,” came a voice that wasn’t the man’s. Mikey uncurled cautiously. “It stinks in here,” said the new voice. “What the fuck did you do?” He didn’t sound mad, only interested. Mikey uncurled the rest of the way and sat up.

The new guy was short, dark-haired, and grinning like a crazy person. Mikey jerked his chin towards the corner. He flinched as the new guy came toward him. The new guy held up his hands. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m not going to do anything to you, I just want to see-- oh. Yeah. Hang on, I’ll go get a towel.” He left, and Mikey looked toward the door. The open door. He lunged for it.

The hallway was dimly lit, and there were way too many doors, but the big one down at the end looked like it must be the way out. Mikey ran to it, thudded against it, jerked at the handle. It rattled but didn’t open. He banged his fist on it. “Help!” Mikey shouted, even though it’d done him no good before. “Let me out, _please_ \--”.

“Hey!” Arms circled around him, dragging him back. He kicked and caught the dragger in the shin, who tripped and fell down, Mikey with him.

“Jesus. Gabe, get the fuck up.” The short guy stood over them. “Let him go.”

“Fuck,” said Gabe. “He kicked me! Fucking ow, fuck, son of a bitch bastard _fuck_.”

“Oh sack up, dude,” said the short guy.

Mikey rolled out of Gabe’s arms. Gabe glared up. “Fuck you too, Pete. He was banging on the door; you want Gary up here? Or fucking, fucking Neal?” He pulled himself up. “That was goddamn stupid, new guy. All stupid does is get you beat. So shut the hell up and let me sleep.”

“Hey,” said Pete, taking a step toward Mikey. Gabe stomped into his room. “It’s okay. You’re okay right now. Here, I brought a couple towels. We’ll clean up your room, and then we’ll talk. My name is Pete. What’s yours?”

“I want to go home,” said Mikey. His head pounded so hard it hurt his ears. Pete carried on in that same gentle voice. “I know you do, dude. We all do. Don’t worry about it right now. You’re okay. Can you tell me your name?”

“Mikey.” His hands shook. “When can I go home?”

“Let’s just go in here and take care of this first.” Pete led him into his room and mopped up the vomit on the floor, all the while speaking soothingly, like Mikey was a scared horse. “You met Gabe already. He’s not bad; he’s just tired, and he doesn’t want to see anyone getting hurt. My room is across from you. Bill is on your other side. Ryan and Spencer are down the hall toward the bathroom, Travie’s across from Gabe, and Adam’s by the door. Okay, let’s go, and I’ll show you the laundry chute. Gary will probably bring you up some new clothes tonight, so when he does, you need to take a shower and dump your old clothes in the chute. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back.”

Mikey followed Pete, half-hypnotized by his words. “If you want to brush your teeth, there are new toothbrushes under the sink. They keep track of them, though, so you don’t want to take one and hide it. That would be stupid. We don’t want to do anything stupid, right?” Pete dropped the used towels down the chute and led Mikey to the bathroom.

It had two shower stalls, three cubicles that probably contained toilets, and a long low counter with three sinks. There was no mirror. Pete showed him the shampoo, the bars of soap underneath the counter, and kept up a running commentary. “I bet you’re hungry. They’ll bring us up breakfast soon. Do you like eggs? It’s usually eggs. And pop-tarts sometimes, which is really cool. Are you allergic to eggs or nuts or anything? If you are, you should tell me. I don’t want to do an emergency tracheotomy if your throat closes up; I don’t think that works for either of us.”

Mikey didn’t know what to say. He didn’t seem to need to say anything, because Pete just kept talking and talking. “I’m allergic to pollen, stuff like that,” he said finally, breaking into Pete’s explanation of the sheet-changing schedule. “But not food.”

Pete flashed a smile at him. “Okay, great, that’s good.” He didn’t seem to mind being interrupted.

“Why are we here?” asked Mikey. “Who are these guys? What do they want?”

Pete’s smile stayed in place. “Let’s eat first. We’ll talk about it after breakfast.”

-o-

Gerard stared down at his shoes. He knew the cop was trying to be nice, but he couldn’t look at her. She was a cop, which meant something really, truly terrible had happened to Mikey.

It was his fault.

He answered her questions without looking at her. Yes, he was the last to see Mikey-- _alive_ , his brain filled in, but he didn’t say. No, he hadn’t paid close attention, but he was pretty sure Mikey was wearing jeans. He knew the Underworld shirt because it was Mikey’s second favorite. There must have been shoes, but he couldn’t remember.

It was his fault.

Mikey had gone to a club in the city. No, he didn’t know which club. No, he didn’t know where it might be. It could have been Alphabet City; it could have been in the Meatpacking District; hell, it could have been in Brooklyn. All he knew was that it played electronica, and there were millions of clubs that fit that description.

It was his fault.

They’d find Mikey, the cop assured him. They’d question clubgoers, bouncers, everyone in the city if they had to. It had only been twenty-four hours. They’d do everything they possibly could to get him back.

Gerard heard this. It didn’t register. He heard his mom’s voice husky with tears, thanking the cops, asking them to please call anytime they knew anything. He heard his dad ask them something. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except that _it was his fault._ If he’d driven Mikey, if he’d picked him up afterward, if he’d cared for one fucking minute about anyone other than himself and his goddamn _comic books_ , for fuck’s sake...

“I have to find him,” said Gerard aloud. No one heard him. “I have to find him,” he said again.

-o-

Mikey stared at Pete. “No,” he said.

Pete put a hand on Mikey’s knee. “Yeah.”

Mikey shook his head. “I won’t.”

Pete smiled sadly. “You don’t get a choice,” he said. “None of us do.”

It was too big. Mikey’s mind couldn’t encompass it. He sat silent as Pete explained. It didn’t hurt as much if you got ready first; sometimes they were gentle; some nights you didn’t get picked at all, and that was fine with Gary, he understood how it went. If you made the best of it, it wasn’t terrible. Some of them liked to give out candy, which was such a cliche, but still, it was candy, which they wouldn’t get otherwise. Pete had gotten a box of four Cadbury Creme Eggs last night. He was saving them for a special occasion. Mikey let the words wash over him and stared straight at the wall. When Pete finished, Mikey blinked, then shook his head. “No,” he said.

Pete grimaced. “Dude, I know. I _know,_ we’ve all been there and we all know. But if you don’t step up, it’s going to be a hell of a lot worse.”

“Tell him what happens to the guys who tell Gary no,” said Gabe, voice floating in from the dim hallway.

Pete glared out the door. “Shut up.”

Mikey just sat there. He didn’t have to do it, he didn’t have to do _shit_ , because this wasn’t happening. This was a nightmare he was having after coming down from way too many drugs. If he just slept enough, it would end, and he would wake up and go downstairs and tell Gee about it, and Gee would throw something at him, and they would both laugh.

“Mikey,” said Pete. He took Mikey’s hand. Mikey jerked it away. Pete kept talking, like he didn’t even notice. “Gabe’s right. It’s worse if you say no. Remember how bad Neal hurt you? It’s a lot worse the first time you say no.”

“What about the second time?” said Mikey hoarsely.

Pete’s smile disappeared. “There isn’t a second time.”

-o-

Gee couldn’t eat. Even the thought of it made him sick. Mom chain-smoked, fingernails tapping on any surface within reach. Dad snapped at her, then apologized, holding her while she cried. Gerard wished he could cry.

Patrick and Joe came over first, Frank and Ray following soon after. They sat with Gerard in his room. Joe brought the weed, and the four of them smoked up, though Gerard refused to. He shouldn’t, not when he’d lost his brother. Not lost like-- no, Mikey was alive, he had to be, because the alternative was unthinkable. Mikey was out there somewhere. Just lost.

Ray made him smoke, actually held the joint to his lips. “You need to eat something,” he pointed out, “and this will help. It’s medicine. Smoke it, fucker.”

He did, but it didn’t relax him, just made him more jittery. He jumped up and began to pace. “I have to find him,” said Gerard, over and over again, “I have to go out there, I have to find him.”

Frank put a hand on his arm. Gerard threw it off. “The cops are looking,” said Frank. “They’ll find him. It’s going to be okay.”

Gerard shook his head and kept pacing. “I have to go out there. I can’t sit here and wait.” Wait for them to come back empty-handed, for their platitudes that tried to cover up the fact that they couldn’t do anything. It was a waste of time. Gerard had to do something before he imploded.

-o-

Pete showed Mikey what to do. Mikey shut his eyes and shook his head, but when he opened them again, he saw Pete looking at him with pity. It was that more than anything that made Mikey sit up straight. Okay. If this was going to happen, he would deal. He wasn’t dead yet, and whatever he had to do to keep it that way, he was going to do. He’d get through it. Gerard would find him, and this would all be over, but in order for that to happen, he had to stay alive. And he didn’t need to be looked at like some pathetic loser. “Show me again,” said Mikey.

Neal came up later, big and blond and narrow-eyed, bringing dinner and new clothes for Mikey. They were normal, a t-shirt and jeans, ripped strategically across the chest and thighs. It made Mikey sick to look at them, but he accepted them without a word. Neal lifted his eyebrow. “Good to see you’re being smart,” he said. Mikey said nothing.

One by one, the other boys appeared in the hallway. Adam was first, a tall, skinny blond kid dressed in a pair of navy slacks and a white button-down shirt. He nodded at Mikey, and rolled up the sleeves before he began eating. He was followed by Travis, who appeared to be the only black guy here. He held out his hand to shake as if they were at a party. Gabe came out, dressed much like Mikey was, long awkward limbs buckling as he slid down the wall and reached for his plate. “Tacos. Great.”

Pete sat down beside Gabe, and Mikey sat beside Pete. There was Coke to drink, which was good after the tap water Mikey had been gulping all day. Pete introduced Mikey to Bill, pretty as a girl in a skintight miniskirt, halter top, and heels. Bill didn’t seem to notice he was wearing a dress as he settled his plate between his spread legs.

“New clothes?” said Pete. “Cool.”

Bill shrugged and wiped a smear of lipstick off his Coke can. “They gave my old stuff to Ryan,” he said.

A door slammed at the end of the hall. “Speaking of,” said Gabe, smirking. Two boys came down to the rest, both of them scowling. The chubby one was wearing the same clothes as Adam plus a crested blazer. The thin one was... well, Mikey assumed he was a boy, but it wasn’t really clear, in his floaty babydoll dress and sandals. Gabe began to laugh. “Lookin’ good, dude.”

The skinny one glared at him. “Ryan says fuck you,” the chubby one spat.

Pete snickered. “Sorry,” he said at the look he got from the chubby one. “Spence, dude-- you both had to know this was coming. Sit down and eat. It’s not like Mikey’s going to look better in it than Ryan does.”

Mikey frowned. “What?”

“You’re wearing Ryan’s clothes,” said Spence accusingly. “Your face is too ugly to pull off drag, so they made him do it. Dick.”

Mikey laughed in disbelief. “Get them to let me go, and Ryan can have all the clothes he wants.”

“Like any of us want to be here,” said Spence. “Fuck you.”

“Shut the hell up,” said Pete. “It’s his first night. Have some fucking compassion or something. And eat your goddamn food.”

Everyone went back to their rooms after dinner. Pete gave Mikey a bottle of lube and a towel. “Time to get ready,” he said. “It’ll be okay. It’s going to suck, I won’t lie, but you’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to,” said Mikey, staring at the bottle.

“I know,” said Pete. “It’ll be okay.”

They lined up in the hall when they were finished, Neal by the door watching them. He unlocked the deadbolts and took off the chain, and Mikey saw the big room for the first time.

It had three leather couches arranged around the giant projection TV, which was incongruously showing Bugs Bunny cartoons. Bill took over half a sofa, lounging in order to show his legs to best advantage. Travis sat on the arm beside him, pants sagging halfway down his ass. Everyone else took seats, and Mikey followed suit, pressing close to Pete. The entire situation had the bizarre reality of a dream. Mikey’s breath came fast. He felt like his head was floating away.

“Showtime, ladies,” said Neal. He unlocked the door on the other side of the room.

-o-

It was not a good night.

-o-

Mikey lay facedown on his bed. Any other position hurt, and he was tired of hurting. He stared at the floor, tracing the scuffed woodgrain with his eyes. There was a voice coming from behind him. He ignored it, but it wouldn’t shut up.

“...Mikey, dude, I know it sucks, okay, I totally know, but you really should eat. I saved you a plate, but they’re gonna come back and take the plates away soon, and I really don’t want to fill up my shirt with scrambled eggs, y’know? Hey, Mikey, hey, hey, just tell me you’re okay. I’ll quit bugging you if you tell me that.”

“I’m okay,” Mikey gritted out. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh good.” Pete sounded relieved. “At least you’re talking. You might not believe it, but that’s a really good sign that you’re gonna be fine. Now come out and eat breakfast. You can go back to bed after that.”

“You said you’d quit bugging me.” It was more of an effort than it had ever been to get the words out.

“Yeah, I lied. Come out and eat.” Pete put a hand on Mikey’s ankle, and Mikey jerked hard, cowering back into the wall. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Okay, you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, at least not this morning. Sorry, dude. Here, I’ll close the door so no one bothers you.”

“Leave it open,” rasped Mikey. They’d trapped him in here last night. He didn’t think he could take that again.

“Okay. No problem. I’m right across the hall if you need me, okay?” Pete stepped back. “I’ll see if I can save your food...”

Mikey tuned him out and closed his eyes.

-o-

Gerard sat in the library, Ray and Frank on either side. His mom wouldn’t let him go out alone. Probably she never would again. Bob sat across the table, deep into a phone book, scrawling on a piece of paper. Gerard looked back down at his own book, but the tiny words were blurred. He scrubbed at his eyes and blinked.

“It’s gonna be okay,” said Ray. “We’ll find him. Well, us or the cops. But someone will find him, I swear.”

“You don’t know that,” said Gerard. “You can’t know.” He could be dead already. Oh God, Gerard couldn’t think that. But once thought, it couldn’t be unthought. His stomach clenched.

“Read,” said Ray, flipping the pages of his book. “Write ‘em all down. We know he was going to a club, and there’s not a club in the city that won’t have a phone.”

Gerard swallowed, looked down at his book, and started writing.

-o-

“Come on,” said Bill from the door. He swigged his Coke and burped. “You have to eat something. You’re skinny enough as it is.”

“You should talk,” mumbled Mikey.

Bill grinned. “There you go. That’s what I like to see. If you can be sarcastic, you’re halfway there.”

“Asshole,” Mikey said, but there was no force behind it. He got up and limped to the hallway. He felt sick, but it was probably from hunger.

“Hey!” said Adam. “Look who’s up. Feeling better?”

“No,” said Mikey. He slid down the wall and took the plate Pete handed him. Chicken and rice. The smell made his mouth water.

“You will,” said Adam. “It takes about a week. Maybe two. Well, with Gabe it took four. He was really pissed off.”

“I was,” Gabe agreed. “I still am.”

“He fought like hell,” said Pete. “How’s your shoulder, Gabe?”

“Still hurts when it rains.” Gabe snorted. “At least I assume it’s raining.”

“Don’t eat too fast. Spencer did that when he first got here and he couldn’t stop throwing up. It was disgusting,” said Adam.

“Were you already here when _everyone_ came?” Mikey looked at Adam curiously.

“I wasn’t the first,” Adam said. “But there’s been a lot of turnover since I got here. I’ve been here the longest.”

“How long has it been?”

“Um. What’s the date?”

Mikey shrugged. He wasn’t sure what day it was even when he was at home. “Sometime in March.”

“What year?”

Jesus. “1997.”

“Okay then. Four years. I got here when I was thirteen.”

Mikey’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t even imagine.

“I was fifteen,” volunteered Pete. “You’re actually kinda old for them to take you. Hell, _I_ was a little too old. I looked young, though. Short. It’s my curse.” He grinned.

How... “You’re smiling,” said Mikey flatly. “What the living fuck.”

Pete shrugged. “Laugh or cry, dude. Crying does fuck-all.”

“Ryan cried,” said Spencer. “He’s a lot better now.”

Ryan, who’d been staring blankly at the wall, slid his eyes over to Spencer. “What,” said Spencer, crossing his arms. “You did.”

Ryan blinked.

“I did not,” said Spencer. “It was you. Shut up.”

Mikey wished he’d never gone out. That he’d never gotten himself fucked up. That he’d stayed home with Gee, and bugged the hell out of him while he was trying to read. He swallowed tears. Gerard. Goddamn.

“Hey,” Travis said. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll get used to it, and pretty soon it’ll be no big.”

“You can get used to anything,” said Bill. “It could be a lot worse. We could be dead.”

“I’d rather be,” said Mikey.

“Oh no,” said Bill. “No you wouldn’t. I remember when they took Tom away; he was scared out of his mind. Crying, screaming, hanging on to the door.”

“He said he’d be good,” said Adam. “He’d do whatever they wanted. But they just took him. Neal is strong as hell. He carried Tom out, and Tom wasn’t real light. But, y’know. You just can’t say no to a customer, not and think it won’t matter. It matters.”

Mikey’s stomach roiled. He swallowed his Coke.

“You’re doing good,” said Pete. “Really good. You had a customer come back the next day; that’s awesome. You keep making money like that and they’ll hang on to you for a long time.” He cocked his head and squinted. “Yeah, you could look like a kid almost.”

I don’t want to, thought Mikey. I don’t want to.

-o-

“No,” said Dad. “No way. You are not leaving this house at night.”

“I have to,” said Gerard. “Look, I have a list of where I’ll be. Ray and Bob and Frank will be with me the whole time.”

“No,” he said again. “Give the list to the detectives and let them take care of it. You’re not going anywhere; I don’t care who’s with you. Do you want to kill your mother?”

Gerard kept himself from hitting something with difficulty. “I have to go,” he said again through clenched teeth. “How do you not understand that?”

Dad held out his hand. “Give me that list.”

Gerard crumpled it in his hand. “No. I’m going. I’m nineteen, and I can go where I want, and I am going out to find Mikey.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to give that to me, and I’ll give it to the detectives. Maybe it’ll help, but you’re staying here and that’s final.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” yelled Gerard. He stood up. “Fuck you, Dad. Maybe you don’t care about finding him, but I do, and I’m fucking going.”

Dad slapped him.

Gerard froze. Dad looked at his hand, at Gerard’s cheek, like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. He sat down, held his head. He cried. Great, gulping sobs that came from deep inside, that hurt Gerard more than the slap did. His dad was always strong and in control. Gerard felt like he was losing his footing, the world turning until he fell off.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard offered. He sat down beside Dad, who grabbed him and hugged him, forcing the breath out of him. Gerard hugged him back as hard as he could. “I’m so sorry. You can have the list. We spent all afternoon in the library making it. You’re right, maybe it’ll help.”

After Dad let him go, Gerard went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked bruised, purple circles underneath like someone had hit him. The handprint on his cheek was flushed pink. “I love you, Dad,” he whispered. “But I have to go.”

He pulled a copy of the list out of his pocket.

-o-

[Part One](http://fic-carousel.livejournal.com/6943.html)

They were right. It did get easier. Even with the anxiety and dread that he couldn’t shake, Mikey got used to sitting in the big room, watching TV and waiting for his customers to show up. They liked him a lot, or maybe it was because he was fresh meat. Usually after the third, Gary let him quit, unless his regular showed up. That guy came two or three times a week, and always chose Mikey. He’d been Adam’s before, but Adam ceded him without a fuss. “It’s my hair,” he explained. “I haven’t had a haircut in like forever. I guess yours is what’s in style now. It’s cool.”

They all did pretty well, with at least one per night to show for it. Except for Pete, who got nervous after two nights in a row with no pickups. “I wish I could do drag,” he said. “Drag works. But I look stupid in it. Bill, you are such a lucky son of a bitch.”

Bill shrugged. “I’m pretty. What can I say?” He adjusted his balls through his skirt. “Maybe you should grow out your hair. Ask Gary not to cut it next time.”

Ryan looked at Pete critically, then at Spencer. “Ryan thinks you’re lucky,” Spencer said. “Being a girl sucks. Dresses suck.”

“Your face sucks,” said Bill.

“All our faces suck,” said Gabe. “Quit being a dick.”

“Your dick sucks,” giggled Pete.

Mikey didn’t say a word, but the knot inside his stomach loosened for a minute. It was a little like being with his friends back home again. He reached out for Pete’s hand. Pete took it.

-o-

They started at the bottom of the list, figuring the detectives would start at the top. Gerard locked the basement door every night and snuck out the back, down the street where Bob waited with the lights off. His mom and dad didn’t notice. Their yelling would have let him know if they did.

At every club they went to, there was someone who knew Mikey. “Mikeyway!” said one girl. “Where’s he been? I haven’t seen him in forever!”

“Tell him we miss him,” one guy said. “He finds the best shit, I swear to God.”

Everyone knew him, but no one knew where he’d been that night. Gerard’s knuckles grew whiter when he clenched his hands together. His eyes grew more bruised-looking. He wasn’t sleeping, and he’d lost ten pounds just in the last week. Frank and Ray tried to dissuade him, make him stay in and sleep at least one night-- “You’re gonna lose your shit at some point, dude, sleep dep is no fucking joke--” but he yelled at them and cried, and after that Bob just took him wherever he wanted to go.

-o-

“Fuck!” swore Bill. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!”

It brought Mikey and Travis into the hall. The customer was already out the main door, leaving Bill standing there, trying to stanch the bleeding from his nose. “Sonofabitch asshole hit me.” Blood ran down his face and chest and stained his halter top.

“Careful,” said Travis, and he and Mikey guided Bill to the bathroom. Bill hawked back blood and spat it into the sink. Mikey grabbed a wad of toilet paper, ran it under the cold water, and gave it to Travis, who pressed it against Bill’s nose. “Ow,” said Bill. “Goddamn.”

“Did he hit you in the mouth?” asked Travis. “Any teeth loose?” Over his shoulder he said “Mikey, can you go tell Gary what happened? Tell him Bill’s out for the night. Pretty face all smashed up. Tell Ryan he’ll have to take Bill’s customers.”

Mikey nodded and headed back down the hall. Animaniacs was on, something they’d taped off the TV. He went to Gary, whispered his message. Gary nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. Gary was bony and mean-looking, and even though Neal was scary, something about Gary was worse. Everyone behaved themselves around Gary.

Ryan was curled up in a corner of the couch, staring at the wall. Mikey sat beside him. “Hey. Bill’s hurt. Gary says his guys are yours for tonight.” He wasn’t sure Ryan had heard him. He started to say it again, but Ryan blinked and nodded slowly.

Spencer was with a customer, which was why Mikey felt okay about sitting beside Ryan, who wore a satin teddy and matching panties. Where Bill looked like a cheap whore-- “More people like that in a kid than you’d expect,” Bill had said-- Ryan looked like a lost little girl dressed in her big sister’s clothes. It made Mikey feel oddly protective. “Do you need anything? Makeup or something?”

It took a long time for Ryan’s eyes to track over to Mikey. His face was blank, shuttered, as he shook his head. He turned back to face the wall.

Gary called for Mikey. Mikey went.

-o-

“Who’s Mikey Way?” asked the bouncer. Gerard repressed a surge of anger. _Everyone_ in this scene knew who Mikey Way was; he’d found that out if nothing else. He showed the bouncer the picture: Mikey in sweats and an old Gene Loves Jezebel t-shirt, with his get-that-damn-camera-out-of-my-room-Gee look on his face. The man looked at it, and his eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah. That guy. It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it? He didn’t want to leave last time he was here.”

“When was that?” asked Gerard.

The bouncer shrugged. “I dunno. Oh wait, yeah, he was here on Keely’s birthday, so that would’ve been, shit, about a month.”

“ _What_ day was Keely’s birthday?” said Frank. Ray and Bob were busy holding Gerard back from grabbing the bouncer and shaking the words out of him.

“The fifteenth.” The bouncer frowned. “No, wait, the fourteenth. It was a Friday.”

“Holy shit!” screamed Gerard. The bouncer jerked. “It was here, you guys, it was _fucking here_ , I knew we’d find it, oh my God!”

Frank rubbed a hand through his hair. “Did you see where he went after he left? Because he never came home, and I know people always talk about runaways, but--

“Mikey wouldn’t run away,” said Gerard, his eyes boring into the bouncer as if he could force him to believe that through sheer will.

“Did you say Mikey Way?” asked a girl in a Rainbow Brite t-shirt. They all spun to look at her. “Yeah, last time I saw him he was scoring off Riley.”

“Who’s Riley?” asked Frank.

“Riley,” said the bouncer. “The one who deals outside Starness and Firestone?”

“I think he’s usually at Flood,” she said. “But yeah, there too.”

Gerard’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t get a sound out. Frank took over. “I think the cops are going to want to talk to you. Both of you.”

-o-

Everyone always disappeared after breakfast. They drifted off into their rooms to sleep, or to take care of their hurts, or just to huddle together after a night on duty. Mikey had fallen asleep right after he’d eaten, but he woke up desperate to pee. It was the middle of the morning; he could tell by the threads of light showing in the cracks of the boarded-up windows.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom. Someone was in the shower, although what they’d be doing showering at this hour he couldn’t guess. He did what he had to do, came out to wash his hands, and looked over idly to see who was cleaning up.

Ryan sat on the floor, water streaming over him. His teddy was plastered to his skinny body, and his eyes were raccooned from smeared makeup. He was shivering.

Mikey didn’t say a word, just went to the shower and turned the water off. It didn’t make a difference to Ryan, who sat there shaking, his eyes fixed on nothing. Mikey crouched down beside him. “Hey.”

Ryan didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even seem to notice. Mikey sat down. Water soaked into his underwear. “Aren’t you sleepy?” When there was no response, Mikey said “Yeah, me either.” He put his arm around Ryan. Ryan jerked back. Mikey put his hands in his lap, and they both sat staring at the wall for a while.

Mikey finally started talking. “I miss home. I don’t know if you have any brothers or sisters, but I have a brother. He’s older than I am. He can be a douche, but I miss him a lot. He’s usually a good guy. He likes comics. He’s really good at drawing them, too.”

There was no response, but Ryan’s shivering slowed. Mikey kept talking. “I think they should bring us some comic books. It gets boring up here. You can only sleep so much. I guess that’s why you’re awake now.”

Mikey never talked to hear himself talk. He let Gerard do that. Tonight was different; he could tell that Ryan needed him to talk. Mikey knew how it felt.

“I like dancing,” he said. “I get out there, I go rolling, and it’s like I’m in a waterfall made of light. I have a million friends out there. They’re probably all sleeping now, but they’ll go dancing tonight. If you haven’t been, you need to go. Maybe when we get out of here, I’ll take you all to one of my clubs. You’d have a great time.”

Ryan gave a sigh. His hand crept into Mikey’s. Mikey went on. “My brother, Gerard, he hates dancing. He’s never even tried it. He says he hates the music, and I get that, it’s not for everyone. But I wish he’d try it first before telling me I have shitty taste.” Mikey’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile. “He’s really fucking smart, though. He reads stuff, and he remembers it, and he’ll come out with it sometimes years later, and he won’t even be able to remember where he learned it, just that he knows. He’s like, like Superman’s brain or something. I bet he’s looking for us.”

Ryan’s head turned, and Mikey could feel his eyes on him. “There’s no way he’d leave me here. He’s totally going to find us. I’d say he’ll kick Neal’s ass, but that’s not true; Gerard’s kind of a wimp. He’ll bring the cops, though, and they’ll kick Neal’s ass. And Gary’s. And I think there was another guy, too. I remember someone in pink, and I don’t think Gary or Neal would ever wear pink. I wish I remembered more. I want the cops to hunt down everyone and kick all their asses. Fuckers.” Mikey shifted and pulled Ryan a little closer. Ryan didn’t flinch.

“Did you and Spencer know each other before? Were you friends?” Ryan’s head was against his shoulder. Mikey could feel him nod.

“That’s cool. I mean, not cool. But it’s good to have someone here. Someone who cares about you. Like Travis cares about Bill, or like Pete cares about everybody. It must be hard, caring like that. Pete’s probably really tired. I would be.” Mikey’s foot was falling asleep. He tried to move it, and Ryan clutched at his hand. “It’s okay, dude. Just pins and needles. How are you doing? Think you can sleep now?”

Ryan nodded again. Mikey stood up, tripping on his numb foot. “Let’s get you into Spencer’s room, okay? I don’t think he’ll mind if you sleep with him.” He pulled Ryan up, surprised to see Ryan was an inch or two taller than him. Ryan’s eyes were focused now; he was aware, and when Mikey led him out of the bathroom, he brushed his thumb on the back of Mikey’s hand.

-o-

“What do you mean you found him?” asked Morgan.

“Not him,” said Gerard. “We found where he was. It’s here.” He fished the card out of his pocket. “The people who saw him, their numbers are on the back. They said he was talking to a guy named Riley, and they know where to find him.”

“He’s a dealer,” Frank put in. “He hangs out at clubs all the time.”

“Jesus,” said Dad. “Gerard, how did you get this?”

Gerard’s face set. “I went out. I’m nineteen. I can do that.”

“Oh, Christ,” said Mom, “Jesus fucking tapdancing Christ, you’d better say you’re lying, Gerard, or so help me you are one dead fucking kid.”

“I found him!” yelled Gerard. “I went out there and, okay, I haven’t found him yet, but I found someone who saw him that night, and that helps, you can’t tell me it doesn’t help, and if you do, then fuck you!”

Morgan picked up the card. Hall stared intently at Gerard. “You do know that you’ve been interfering with a police investigation, right? Do you know why that’s a bad thing?”

“I found a goddamn clue,” said Gerard, “which is more than you’ve done. I even gave you my list!”

“What the hell,” said Dad heavily, “is wrong with the police that they can’t check a simple list that someone else put together and handed them?” His voice grew in volume. “What the fuck does it mean when my son does a better job than the detectives? Interfering with a police investigation? From here it looks like he’s doing all the investigating, and you’re sitting on your asses!”

Mom pressed her lips together in fury. “Get out,” she said to Morgan and Hall. “Get the hell out of my house and _go find my son._ ”

-o-  
When the white Crown Vic pulled up outside the club, Riley didn’t even bother to move. What pills he had on him weren’t even close to the number he’d need to get busted for dealing, and half of them were baby aspirin anyway.

“We’d like to talk to you,” said the guy cop. Not that he was dressed as a cop, but it was obvious. The woman getting out of the driver’s side was even more obvious. No woman wore shoes like that if she didn’t have to. “Is your name Riley?”

“Me? No, but I know him,” said Riley. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him, next time I see him.”

The woman came up to face Riley. “Funny. That’s really funny.” She held a picture up. “Do you know this boy?”

Riley could feel the blood draining from his face. Shit, shit, they _promised_ it’d never be traced back to him, they swore they’d done this fifty times and it was always okay. “Never seen him.”

He’d always had a rotten poker face. At the last minute, he tried to break and run, but the guy cop was big, and he grabbed Riley and slammed him into the wall so hard Riley felt the breath squeeze out of his lungs. “I think you have,” said the cop into his ear. “I think you know right where he is.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , this was not about selling a few pills to a few high school kids. Kidnapping was something else entirely, maybe not enough for supermax, but bad enough. Riley gasped for breath. “I don’t. I don’t. But maybe I know who does.”

They arrested him and took him in. He didn’t say anything more until his lawyer came, a harassed-looking young woman from the public defender’s office. They talked for two minutes, he told her the deal he wanted, and before he knew it, he was sitting on one side of the table, the two cops on the other.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. First thing, this was not my idea. These guys came to me. They asked me to get ahold of a kid, a guy, and deliver him. Alive,” he hastened to add. “They didn’t want him hurt. So I got hold of this kid, Mark or Mike or something, and took him to the parking lot at Jersey Gardens. Gary and Neal, those were their names. They gave me a thousand bucks. Pretty big investment, so they must’ve been planning to do something with him.”

“Where did they take him?” said the big guy.

“I dunno, I dunno, I didn’t like follow them or anything. It was just a business exchange. But I saw their faces. I can identify them for you.”

“Honor among thieves,” muttered the lady cop. “Let’s get the mug book.”

-o-

Mikey walked down the hall. Everyone stood in their doorways, staring at him. He didn’t know where to look. “Good luck,” whispered Adam. Gary snapped his fingers. “Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Neal was waiting in the big room. Gary locked the door that led to the bedrooms, and Neal unlocked the other door. The door where the customers came from, the door that led to the outside. Before they went through, Gary grabbed Mikey’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “You’re going to behave yourself while you’re out. You’re going to keep quiet, you’re going to do what you’re told, and you are absolutely not going to do anything that could possibly be construed as trying to leave. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” said Mikey.

“I’m serious.” Gary's gaze was intense. “You do anything, and your guy will report it to me. And then I’ll kill Pete.”

Mikey got very still at that.

“If you get away,” said Gary, “all of them go down. Hear me? Neal will come in with a gun, and he will shoot them all. Do you want that?”

Mikey shook his head mutely.

“No, I didn’t think so,” said Gary. “Now let’s go. Your guy is waiting.”

Neal led the way, with Gary behind Mikey. He didn’t know why they were being so careful. He had nowhere to go, not with that threat behind him. They went down a flight of stairs, old and cracked and paint-splashed, and at the bottom was a window, and in front of the window stood Mikey’s regular.

“Remember,” said Gary, and Mikey’s throat closed. He nodded.

“Let’s go,” said the customer. He grasped Mikey by the upper arm and led him outside. It was dark, and cool with rain, and the air smelled sweeter than any he’d breathed before. Mikey took deep breaths as the man led him to a silver Mercedes, opened the back door, and locked Mikey’s wrists into a set of handcuffs threaded through the armrest. Mikey arranged himself on the seat as best he could, and the door closed with a soft thump.

They drove off, rain speckling the windows and hissing under the tires. Mikey leaned his head back against the seat. He startled when the customer spoke to him. “You’re lucky I found you.”

For a wild flash of a second, Mikey thought he was being rescued. The man went on. “Why did you have to run away? I’m your father; you know you belong at home. Why did you leave?”

“I’m... sorry?” Usually the man just wanted to get Mikey’s clothes off. Roleplay was Adam or Bill, not Mikey. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The man sighed. “I’d like you to tell me that you’re sorry, and that you won’t do it again. But I want to know that you mean it.”

Oh shit oh shit, Mikey sucked at acting, but he pulled himself together. He wouldn’t have Pete’s death on his conscience. “I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.” What he would have liked _was_ to run away, as fast and as far as possible, but he couldn’t do that to Pete or to anyone else. “Are you mad at me?”

The man glanced over his shoulder at Mikey. “I’m disappointed,” he said. “I thought we were doing so well, after your mother left.”

Oh, so now there was a mom too. Goddamn it. “I’m sorry,” said Mikey again. That seemed the safest. He stared out of the window as the car pulled up to a stoplight. People were walking down the sidewalk, crossing the street, holding umbrellas and running for shelter. The rain made everything blurry, bright lights shining off wet pavement. After countless days imprisoned, it was beautiful. “Can I roll the window down?” he asked.

“Of course not.” The light turned green. “It’s raining. You’ll get the leather wet.”

“Oh,” said Mikey, who’d never driven in anything nicer than his mom’s old Camaro. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s all right, Mikey,” said the man, and the way he said it made Mikey’s skin crawl. “Let’s just go home.”

-o-

Joe was on his way to his night job when he stopped at a light. He did his customary eyesweep for cops-- they tended to sneak up on you when you least expected it-- and his eyes passed over the figure in the backseat of the silver Mercedes next to him. They snapped back. Yeah, it was raining, yeah it was dark, but that looked a hell of a lot like... Joe rolled down his window to see better.

Holy shit. That was Mikey.  
.  
Joe was high, he was always high, but he had learned to function pretty well. He didn’t see things unless the weed was laced with something, and he knew his dealer well enough to know that he wouldn’t just give away hallucinogens like that. Joe didn’t see things that weren’t there. And he definitely saw Mikey.

Adrenaline burned the high right out of him as the light turned green. The Mercedes zoomed ahead, and Joe followed, squinting against the sweep of his wipers. “R39 6V4. R39 6V4. R39 6V4.”

As they turned onto a freeway, the Mercedes pulled away at a speed Joe’s beat-to-hell car would never be able to match. Within seconds it was a pair of taillights in the distance. He repeated the license number over and over, and as soon as he hit an exit, screeched into the parking lot of the nearest convenience store. He burst in, yelling the numbers. “R39 6V4! Give me a pen! R39 6V4! Pen, motherfucker!”

The woman behind the bulletproof plastic shield looked at Joe like he was insane. He said the numbers over and over like a mantra, searching the store for something-- there. He grabbed the Sharpie, ripped open the packaging, and scrawled the numbers on his arm. “R39 6V4.” He couldn’t stop saying it. “Motherfucking R39 6V4.”

“You’re gonna pay for that!” said the woman behind the shield. “Pay up!”

Joe felt in his pockets for cash. He pulled out a key on a string, some pennies, and a lot of laundry fluff. Shit. “Sorry,” he said. “I needed it.” He put the pen on the counter and ran.

-o-

“Please,” said Mikey. “Please don’t. I swear I won’t run away again.”

“I wish I could believe that,” said the man, tugging on the chain. “I really do. But I can’t risk it. It’s a terrible world out there; you’re much safer here with me.”

“But I can’t.” Mikey swallowed. “I can’t even get to the bathroom. Could I at least have a longer chain? Please? Dad?”

The man rested a hand on Mikey’s head, the picture of fatherly concern. “When I think you’ve earned it, yes. But you have to learn that running away has its consequences. Maybe this will make you think again before you leave.”

“But I don’t want to leave anymore. I promise. I’ll stay here. I won’t even ask you to take the chain off, but please let me be able to go to the bathroom.”

The man walked toward the door.

“Please?”

The man opened it.

“Please? Dad?”

The man closed it behind him.

“Daddy?”

-o-

“I wasn’t high,” said Joe. Mom and Dad raised their eyebrows. Even Gerard looked skeptical. “Okay,” said Joe, “okay, I was kind of high. But I know Mikey, and that was Mikey looking out the window. I got a good look. It was totally him.”

Gerard’s heart locked up. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew he was alive. I knew we’d find him!” He grabbed for the phone.

“Do you think...” Mom asked Dad.

“I think,” said Dad. He pulled the phone out of Gerard’s hand. “I’ll call.”

Gerard jumped up and paced the room as Dad talked to the detectives, reading the number off Joe’s arm. “I swear,” he whispered to no one, “I swear, I’m not gonna lose him again. Just give him back, and I won’t let anything happen to him ever again. Ever. Please, please, please.”

“Thank you,” said Dad. He put the phone down. His face was pale as he turned to Mom. “They got another lead, that guy Gerard told them about. They found him. He’s talking.”

“Jesus,” whispered Mom. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

“Mikey is coming home,” Gerard muttered. “We are gonna find him, and he is coming home.”

-o-

When Mikey walked back into the hallway, it felt like the entire floor sighed in relief. “Aw man,” said Bill, “we were hoping you wouldn’t come back.”

“The only way he wouldn’t come back is if the guy was into snuff,” said Travis. “Don’t listen to that asshole, Mikey. _I’m_ glad you’re back.” Bill pushed Travis. Travis pushed back.

“What was it like?” asked Pete. “Not the guy, I could give a rat’s ass about him. What was it like outside?”

Mikey blinked and tried to figure out how to explain. “It was raining.”

“Really?” asked Gabe. “My shoulder didn’t hurt. I guess it’s not rain that fucks it up, then. Raining like how? Like drizzling, or like pouring?”

“Somewhere in between,” said Mikey. “Like, it was raindrops, but not really hard. I could smell it on the pavement. I could smell it in the air.”

“What did it smell like?” Adam leaned forward hungrily.

“Like...” Mikey thought. “Like growing things.” Adam sighed.

“Ryan wants to know why you didn’t leave when you had the chance,” said Spencer. He slid down against the wall to sit on the floor. Mikey sat down too.

“I didn’t have a chance.” Mikey wasn’t about to tell them about Gary’s threat; it would only scare them. “He kept me in cuffs and he had his hand on me the whole time. And it’s not like I could get out of the house.” He couldn’t even get to the bathroom. By the time the man had come to let him off the chain, Mikey could hardly walk, his bladder was so full. The man had stood there and watched him piss, and of all the things that happened that night, that was the one that really freaked Mikey out.

“Ryan, dude, when they take you out of the house, then you can tell us why you didn’t run.” Pete sat next to Ryan and nudged him with his shoulder. “Oh wait, no one takes you anywhere.” He grinned. Ryan scowled.

Bill lay with his head in Travis’s lap. “It must have cost that guy a fortune. Gary’s paranoid about anyone finding out we’re here. He’d only let you go if the guy paid, like, triple or something.”

“Shut up,” said Travis affectionately. “Let’s not talk about that, okay.”

“You saw the sun, didn’t you?” asked Adam. “Is the sun shining?”

Mikey shook his head. “It was still raining when we left. But it was light out. I miss the light.” Which was weird, for him. He’d always liked the dark, had listened to his music with his lights off late into the night.

“I miss weather,” said Adam. “I miss the sun. And the rain. I miss thunderstorms, and snow, and wind.”

“Yeah,” said Travis, knocking his head back against the wall. “Me too. Fucking rainbows, man. Three years now, I’d like to see a goddamn rainbow.”

“Fuck weather,” said Bill. “I miss girls. Tits, dude, giant round squeezable tits...”

“Right,” said Gabe. “You were fifteen when you got here. The only tits you ever saw were on your mom when she was breastfeeding you.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss them,” said Bill, undeterred. “Porn, man. Skinemax. Car commercials. Tits are _everywhere_.”

“I miss commercials,” Pete said. “I miss TV with swearing. And actors. If I see another fucking Daffy Duck cartoon, I’ll rip my wrists open with my teeth. Mel Blanc can kiss my ass.”

“I miss getting to choose what to eat,” said Spencer. “I’m sick of scrambled eggs and peanut butter sandwiches. I mean, I like fried chicken and pizza and everything, but I want to have them when I feel like having them. And no more Coke. I want a fucking Pepsi.”

“I miss my mom,” said Gabe unexpectedly. They all looked at him. Bill raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “What?” Gabe said. “I was on a goddamn class trip when I was fourteen and they got me. When had I ever been away from my mom except for summer camp? She probably thinks I’m dead now.”

Everyone nodded. Everyone but Mikey. He knew Gerard was looking for him, and he knew Gerard would find him. They just had to be patient. He hugged his knees to his chest. “What does Ryan miss?” he asked Spencer.

Ryan looked at Spencer sidelong and quirked his mouth. Spencer smiled. “Ryan misses music,” he said. “Especially the Beatles. He plays guitar, and he’s really good. But he misses singing, too. There’s no music here.”

“Besides cartoons,” snorted Pete. “Fucking cartoons.”

“I like the music in some of the cartoons,” said Mikey. “Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit--”

“Welcome to my shop,” interrupted Gabe, “let me cut your mop, let me shave your crop--”

“Oh Bwunhiwde, you’re so wuvwy--”

“Daintily! Daintily!”

“In the towwwwn,” Bill cut in, voice sharp and high and heartstopping. Everyone’s jaws dropped. “Where I was booooorn, there lived a maaan who sailed to sea...”

Travis picked it up. “And he told us of his life, in the land of submarines...”

“So we sailed, on to the sun,” sang Pete huskily, “till we found the sea of green...”

Spencer was smiling in incredulity. Ryan stared at them as if he’d never seen them before.

Adam picked it up. “And we lived, beneath the waves, in our yellow submarine...”

And everyone joined in. “We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine.”

“And our friends are all aboard,” sang Mikey, even though he couldn’t really sing, “many more of them, who live next door--”

Ryan opened his mouth. “And the band begins to play,” he sang, voice rusty and cracked. Everyone cheered. Spencer hugged him. Gabe jumped up to direct the chorus. “We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine...”

“Full speed ahead, Mr. Barkley, full speed ahead!” called Adam.

“Full speed over here--”

“All together! All together! Aye aye sir, fire!”

“Captain!” yelled Gabe. “Captain!”

“As we live a life of ease,” everyone sang together. “Life of ease!” shouted Ryan.

“Every one of us,” “Every one of us!”

“Has all we need,” “Has all we need!”

“Sky of blue--” “Sky of blue!”

“And sea of green,” “Sea of green!”

“In our yellow--” “In our yellow!”

“Submarine--”

“Submarine! Ha ha!” shouted Ryan, half-crazed.

“WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE,” they sang at the tops of their lungs, “YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE! WE ALL LIVE--”

The door opened to reveal Neal, face flushed and angry. “What the fuck are you doing?” he bellowed. “Shut the fuck up!”

“YELLOW SUBMARINE,” they sang back at him, “YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE!” He took a step forward and kicked Adam in the side. Adam choked and fell on the floor. Neal yanked him up by the hair, punched him in the stomach, slammed him against the wall. One by one, their voices petered out, the only sound the punches and Adam’s strangled gasps. Except for Ryan. “Yellow submarine,” he sang softly to himself, “yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine...”

-o-

Detective Morgan knocked on the door. A middle aged man in a suit answered. “Hello?” He stood cautiously in the doorway, looking from Morgan to Hall and back.

“Mr. Richardson?” Morgan produced her badge. “We’d like to talk to you.”

The blood drained from the man’s face. He tried to shut the door, but Hall stopped it with one hand. “Let’s do this the easy way,” he suggested. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

-o-

There was no way Adam would be able to work that night. Gary yelled at Neal, but there wasn’t much he could do, and in the end, everyone just had to shrug and deal with it. Mikey pulled on his ripped shirt and jeans and came out of his room to see Pete rubbing his face and blinking sleepily. “I don’t feel good,” said Pete.

“Neither does Ryan,” said Spencer from his doorway.

“Maybe we’re getting sick,” said Travis hopefully. “Remember last time? We got like three days off to be sick. I wouldn’t mind throwing up some. I could use a break.”

Pete started to answer, but a crash cut him off. All the boys jumped. “The hell?” said Bill. That was when the yelling started downstairs. Gabe flinched, turning pale. “We should hide,” he said. “Under the beds, everybody.”

“What is it?” Mikey asked. “Has this happened before?” Ryan and Spencer disappeared into Spencer’s room. Gabe shook his head. “But it can’t be good,” he said. “If they find the keys...”

Mikey didn’t wait to hear more. He ran into Pete’s room, shut the door and wriggled under the bed. If Gabe was scared of who might be out there, Mikey wanted as much distance between him and them as possible. Pete was right behind him, squeezing in as far as Mikey’s body would let him. Mikey grabbed for his hand. Pete was shaking.

It was dusty under the bed, and Mikey sneezed. “Shut up,” whispered Pete, and Mikey pinched his nose shut. No sound. No movement. Nothing that would draw attention. He was selfishly glad that Adam’s and Bill’s rooms were nearest to the door, so whatever happened, they’d be first. It should have made him feel bad, but he was too afraid to feel anything else.

“Make them go away.” Pete’s prayer was nothing more than a ghost of breath against Mikey’s ear. “God, make them go away, make them go away, I’ll never ask for anything else if they go away.” All Mikey could do was wrap his arms around Pete and hold him tight.

The shouting came closer. Mikey buried his face in Pete’s shoulder. Someone banged on the main door and yelled something Mikey couldn’t make out. His breath came faster, and he sneezed again and huddled into Pete. A crash shook the floor. Another. Another. Another, and one so loud it had to be the locked door giving way. “Jesus,” whispered Mikey.

“Come out with your hands on your heads,” bellowed a voice from the hallway. There was the smash of a door being kicked in, a yelp from down the hall. Pete’s door flew open. “Clear,” a deep voice called.

“Check the bed!” came the answer. A radio squawked, and Mikey’s head jerked up and hit the bedframe.

“Come out,” said the deep voice. “Slow. Hands first.”

Pete hugged Mikey hard, then rolled over. “Don’t kill us, okay? We’ll do whatever you want,” he said. He wiggled out from under the bed. “Holy shit,” Mikey heard. “Mikey. Come look.”

Mikey stuck his hands out first, then pulled himself out. He blinked through the cobwebs and dust stuck to his face. Gun. Uniform. The radio squawked again. Relief made him so weak his arms collapsed and dropped him on the floor.

“He did it,” said Mikey into the floorboards. A smile crossed his face. “I knew he would.”

-o-

Gerard paced from Bob to Frank and back. He stepped into the street, but every time he did, Ray was there to stop him, and Gerard glared at him. “We found it,” he spat, “we should be able to go in. We should be there when they find him.”

“They told us to stay across the street,” said Ray. “We’re lucky to be here at all. Want to get arrested? Because they’re about sick of you, and they’ll do it.”

“I almost wouldn’t blame them,” mumbled Bob. Gerard turned on him, and he took a step back.

A police car blasted into the street, siren and lights going for all they were worth. Another one followed, and two more. Ray and Bob grabbed Gerard’s arms. Gerard was vibrating in frustration. “Let me go,” he demanded. “Get the fuck _off_ me--”

A tall blond man appeared at the door. The next moment he was pushed from behind, and he stumbled toward the police car, hands cuffed behind his back. An officer thrust him into the backseat. A thin dark-haired man came next, snarling at the cops, and then there was a tall black guy, a blanket around his shoulders, hand up to shield his face from the flashing lights. The cops guided him to the side. Then another guy came out, skinny and pale, blinking like a mole coming up from underground. Then another. And another. And--

Mikey.

Gerard threw his friends off in an instant, and was rushing across the street before anyone could stop him. He evaded the officers reaching for him, ducked under a cop’s arm, and crashed into Mikey and locked his arms tight around him. “I found you,” he said, “I knew we’d find you, I knew it, I knew you were out here and I knew I’d find you.”

Mikey’s arms were as tight around Gerard. “Gee. I know. I always knew.”

Around them there were lights and sirens and Mom and Dad crying, kids wrapped in blankets and shivering, police handing out hot chocolate and candy bars. Behind them, Spencer and Ryan hugged each other. Pete grinned, while Bill couldn’t stop laughing. Gabe stood stupefied, and Travis held him. Mikey twisted his head around. “Adam. Look.”

Adam’s eyes were wide open, taking it all in. He tilted his head back, and smiled as he felt the rain.


End file.
